They followed Altfeld to the penguin enclosure. Ringed by a spiked iron fence, it was a sunken concrete landscape of artificial rocks and shelves surrounding a shallow, squalid-looking lake. It was feeding time. A young man in shorts flung fish at the anxious, pressing mob of penguins. Altfeld stood by the railings, at the front of the small gathering of onlookers. There was no sign that he knew he was being followed. Soon the zookeeper picked up his empty bucket and moved elsewhere, and Altfeld took that as his cue to dig into his little paper bag and hurl silvery titbits to the birds.
Across the bowl of the penguin enclosure, someone caught Floyd’s eye. It was Auger: she had made her way to the other side and had somehow managed to get to the front of the crowd of spectators, and was now pressed hard against the railings. Rather than paying attention to Altfeld, she was staring in obvious transfixed fascination at the bustling congregation of penguins, with their neat black morning suits, silly little flippers and expressions of utmost dignity, even as they belly-flopped into the water or fell over backwards. It was as if she had never seen penguins before.
Floyd guessed they didn’t have many zoos in Dakota.
The onlookers began to disperse, leaving only a few people behind, amongst them Altfeld. As he flung the birds the last few scraps from his bag, he watched the penguins with the resigned detachment of a general overseeing some appalling military defeat.
Floyd and Auger approached the old man.
“Herr Altfeld?” Auger asked.
He looked around sharply, dropping the paper bag, and replied in English, “I don’t know who you people are, but you should not have followed me.”
“We only need you to answer a few questions,” Floyd said.
“If I had anything to say, I would have already said it.”
Auger stepped closer. “I’m Verity,” she said. “Susan was my sister. She was murdered three weeks ago. I know you corresponded with her about the Kaspar contract. I think her murder had something to with whatever that contract was for.”
“There is nothing I can tell you about that contract.”
“But you know the contract we mean,” Floyd said. “You know it was out of the ordinary.”
He kept his voice low. “An artistic commission. Nothing special about that.”
“You don’t believe that, as comforting as it might seem,” Auger said.
“All we need to know,” Floyd said, “is where the objects were sent. Just one address will do.”
“Even if I was prepared to tell you—which I am not—that information no longer exists.”
“You don’t keep your paperwork filed away somewhere for reference?” Auger asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
“The documentation was… disposed of.”
Floyd blocked Altfeld’s view of the birds. “But you must remember something.”
“I never committed those details to memory.”
“Because someone told you not to?” Auger asked. “Was that what happened, Mr. Altfeld? Did someone put pressure on you not to pay too much attention?”
“It was a complicated contract. Of course I paid attention.”
“Give us something,” Floyd said. “Anything. Just the approximate district in Paris to which one of the spheres was shipped would be better than nothing.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was the function of the spheres ever discussed?” Floyd persisted.
“As I said, it was an artistic commission.” Altfeld’s voice had become tense, and his composure seemed ready to snap at any moment. “Kaspar Metals was engaged in many other metallurgical contracts during the same period. Provided the specifications were followed, there was no need for us to question the subsequent use to which the items would be put.”
“But you must have been curious,” Floyd said.
“No. I had no curiosity whatsoever.”
“We think the spheres might be part of a weapon,” Auger said. “At the very least, components of something with a military application. The same thought must have occurred to you. Didn’t that give you pause for thought?”
“The purpose of the objects was a matter for the export bureau, not me.”
“Nice get-out,” Floyd said.
Altfeld looked up at him. “If questions had been raised, export of the objects would have been blocked. They were delivered, so the matter is closed.”
“And that lets you off the hook, does it?” Floyd asked.
“My conscience is clear. If this troubles you, I apologise. May I be permitted to watch the penguins in peace now?”
“That contract was part of something evil,” Auger said. “You can’t wash your hands of it that easily.”
“What I do with my hands,” Altfeld said, “is entirely my business.”
“Tell us what you know,” Floyd insisted.
“What I know is that you should stop asking questions and leave this matter alone. Leave Berlin now and return to wherever it is you came from.” He regarded Auger. “I can’t place your accent. I am normally very good, even with English speakers.”
“She’s from Dakota,” Floyd said, “but you don’t need to worry about that. What you do need to worry about is telling me who has put the fear of God into you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
By now, they were the only people anywhere near the penguin enclosure. Floyd saw his moment, knowing he’d regret his actions immediately, but also well aware that there was no other means of getting anything useful out of Altfeld. He lunged and grabbed Altfeld by the collar of his raincoat and shoved him hard against the railings with his back to the enclosure, knocking the wind out of him.
“Now listen sehr gut,” Floyd said. “I’m not an impatient man. I’m not a man who normally does this kind of thing. Matter of fact, I’m usually an easy-going sort of fellow.” Altfeld wriggled, trying ineffectually to escape Floyd’s grasp. “But the problem is that a friend of mine is in a lot of trouble.”
“I know nothing about any friend of yours,” Altfeld wheezed.
“I never said you did. But this little contract of yours—the one you don’t want to talk about—is connected to the trouble my friend is in. It’s also connected to the murder of Miss Auger’s sister. That makes two of us who’d like to get closer to the truth, and only one of you standing in our way.”
“Let go of me,” Altfeld said. “Then perhaps we can have a reasonable conversation.”
“Don’t hurt him, Wendell,” Auger said.
Floyd looked around: no other spectators just yet. He kept the man pinned against the railings. “This is as reasonable as it gets. Now why don’t you tell me about the people who wanted these spheres made?”
“I will tell you nothing except that you are better off having as little to do with them as possible.”
“Ah,” Floyd said. “Progress—of a sort.” He rewarded Altfeld with a slight reduction of pressure, allowing him to stand fully on his feet again. “The question is—if they’re so bad, why did you deal with them in the first place? Surely Kaspar Metals didn’t need the work that badly?”
Altfeld looked around, doubtless hoping for assistance to wander by. “Work was always welcome. We were not in the business of turning contracts away.”
“Not even contracts as technically demanding as this one?” Auger asked.
He glared at her, as if she should be ashamed to have an opinion on the matter. “There was nothing unusual about it at first. The contract appeared relatively simple, as these things go. We were happy to take it on. But as the work progressed, so did the demands for the quality of the finished product. The specification became tighter, the tolerances smaller. The copper-aluminium alloy was difficult to cast and machine. At first we didn’t even have measuring instruments capable of calibrating the objects’ shape to the necessary degree of accuracy. And then there was the whole business of the cryogenic suspension—”